In the far corner in the back of the church it sits folded awaiting a patron
This once great chariot used to transport
No one remembers now.
It once was shiny and new and held great importance
Like the pews it rested next to on any given Sunday
It being rolled down center isle for communion
This once great chariot has no one to accompany it now,
It is old like many patrons who once relied upon it.
This wheelchar once a resting place for the weary ones,
A dear comfort for those
who needed a shoulder to lean on.
But no one remembers it now
It has seen countless patrons yet received no thank you
now replaced by a new, more capable wheelchair
It is a motherless child,
and now has many stories to tell.
I can remember when I first laid eyes on it
I was a young girl
I was like others then and now
Wondering what was the purpose of its existance
Then I tempted to rest in the comfort of its arms.
It was a mother to the motherless a way for me to be at ease.
I was even more intrigued by its easy complexity
and its ability to sustain the weight if the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment